


Les Fringurs

by SupernaturalMystery306



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2016 [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Mechanic Dean, Sex Toys, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8440156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturalMystery306/pseuds/SupernaturalMystery306
Summary: It’s not like it’s something Jo’s thought about a lot. Occasionally, she’ll see Dean around the house, and that’s the only time she remembers who he is, since small talk is required.

  But then, there are times, late at night, when she can’t sleep and her thoughts involuntarily turn to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kink Bingo; square: Sex Toys.

It’s not like it’s something Jo’s thought about a lot. Occasionally, she’ll see Dean around the house, and that’s the _only_ time she remembers who he is, since small talk is required.

But then, there are times, late at night, when she can’t sleep and her thoughts involuntarily turn to him.

He’s hot. Working in the garage has done him good. Hours of working with his hands covered in oil (that thought makes her snort) has developed his hands into works of art, and she knows this because _all_ the girls can be heard talking about his magical fingers. Heck, Jo’s own father (who works in the same place as Dean) has commended the boy.

He really does work hard.

That’s what makes her shudder. In the dead of the night, she thinks about how he’d be, rough yet extremely thoughtful, calloused hands gliding over her soft body, mapping out every inch with his talented fingers and—hopefully—even more talented _tongue_.

She _craves_ his intensity, those sharp green eyes that track her movements, those arms that are God’s gift to the female population.

She knows though, that he won’t do anything. Smouldering looks aside, he respects her father, and he respects _her_. And Dean is well aware of the fact that Jo doesn’t want him. He’s never made a secret of his tendencies. Everyone knows he doesn’t do love. 

Jo does not want such a person, and he knows it.

Unfortunately, it also means that he thinks she’s not interested, and Jo’s not so desperate that she’ll tell him she wants him—even for sex.

She can get herself off without external assistance, thank you very much.

It’s why she owns the toys hidden in her room, away from prying eyes. 

Most nights, her fingers are enough. She doesn’t even have to do much. Imaginary Dean is quite helpful, and it’s only a matter of minutes that she’s gasping out, mouth hanging open as she orgasms, juices trailing down her thighs and pooling on the bed sheets.

Then there are times, when she’s just not able to satisfy herself. Those are the days when she’s been to the garage, and watching Dean work makes her hot. The itch doesn’t just go away with mere _fingers_ , when all she can think about is Dean’s cock.

That’s when she needs the toys. The simplest one slides in easily enough after some preparation. She adjusts to it, moving it in and out slowly, until she’s panting, sweat beading on her face, and simply lying down isn’t satisfactory. She throws off her sheets, uncaring of where they land, tangled by the foot of the bed or on the floor, and rolls over, exposing her wetness to the cold of the room. Being sensitive, it pulls a sound from her mouth, and she clamps her lips shut, fear of being caught making her freeze. She continues when there’s no indication of anyone having heard her, and pretty soon, it’s sliding in and out of her, wet sounds amplified in the room. It’s not a real cock, and obviously won’t be as good as one, but she doesn’t care, as long as it takes her over the edge.

And when she finally does release, she has to shove one fist into her mouth, willing herself to _stop making sounds_ , while the other hand grips the sheets, the toy either haphazardly pulled out and tossed somewhere, or still lodged into her pussy.

Afterwards, when her legs no longer feel like they will give out if she moves, and she’d cleaned up all evidence of having pleasured herself, she lies on crisp, new sheets (never thinking of putting a towel to soak up the fluids), staring up at the ceiling, cataloguing the rotation of the blades of the fan, before drifting off to sleep.

In the morning, Dean is sometimes there, and she wills herself to not react.

She impassively looks on, and Dean’s eyes for away, though the tiny quirk of his lips does not smooth out.

**Author's Note:**

> [if you're bored come talk to me on tumblr](http://fancythingsandgossamerwings.tumblr.com)


End file.
